


That's All

by lucimarlena



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Family Drama, Female Friendship, Gen, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucimarlena/pseuds/lucimarlena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would agree because you're family and we made a promise to always be there for each other and to be each other's maid of honor when we were younger." Things don't always go as planned. Emily learns that lesson when she asks Leah to be her MOH</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's All

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All of the characters, concepts, and anything affiliated with the Twilight saga belong to (their rightful owner) Stephanie Meyer. The rest of the work belongs to me and should not be copied in any way, including translations, without my explicit consent.
> 
> Major thanks to Flyaway Dove for Beta-ing this.
> 
> Set: Sometime after BD.
> 
> Emily POV

**  
**

I invite you over a girls' night in: another desperate attempt to try and rekindle our lost friendship. It's been so long since you've talked to me. Yes, you've said the occasional hello, and the clearly forced polite, "And how are you today?" but those don't count.

First of all, that's not talking, that's chitchat, something that you despise. Something that I now despise. I don't want a formal "Hello Emily," or a, "Can you pass the salt…please." I want a "Hey Em! How's it going?" or your classic, "Get off your lazy ass and pass me the salt, thanks." I want your usual witty banter and playfully sarcastic comments. I want to have those long conversations about nothing. I want us to talk like we used to, not this forced chitchat that you would use with strangers or acquaintances of your mother. Having to listen to you be so formal, like we don't know each other, like we didn't know each other better than anyone else knows us, hurts. We're supposed to be best friends, sisters. You're supposed to _want_ to talk to me.

You're supposed to talk to me, Leah. But you don't. It's obvious that Sam ordered you to be nice and polite whenever you're around me. He wants me to be happy and he knows that you make me happy. But, knowing that it's the command talking hurts. It hurts to know that you don't want to talk to me anymore, that you can barely stand to be around me, that your Alpha had to command you to talk to me. I'd rather you curse and yell at me, call me all of the hurtful things that you and I both know you've been saving in your memory bank, and just get it out of your system. I would gladly take the abuse because it would be you directing something at me. Not a command, not your mother's need for proper behavior, you: a hurt friend.

I hoped that by inviting you, you would talk to me. Surrounded by all of your friends, (which is to say the other girls who actually know about you and the wolves: the other imprintees…okay, maybe it's just me, Rachel, and Kim), I thought you would open up again. Maybe leave behind all the bitterness and hostility that you always carry with you and have some fun. Laugh, smile, and joke with us. Talk.

Then, we could go back to how things were before and this wouldn't seem so awkward. I wouldn't be squirming in my seat wondering how to ask you the single most important question that I have yet to ask you since plans were finalized last Tuesday.

It's now Friday. I know, I've been dragging it out, but I'm worried. I'm worried that by asking you this question, I'll lose you. I'll lose you more than I already have lost you. So I say nothing. Kim and Rachel have said nothing.

It's been forty-three minutes and, (surprisingly), you haven't said a word. You came in, glanced at Rachel, and plopped down on the couch before crossing your arms and glaring. Kim said hi, and you nearly took her head off with a practiced "I hate the world and you saying 'hi' just made it a little worse" stare. When Rachel said hey, she got the only response any one of us has ever been able to get on a good day: a grunt or a slight nod. You obviously like Rachel best.

You still don't even acknowledge me.

You don't even react when I set down the plate of muffins, (blueberry: your favorite), down on the coffee table in front of you.

This does not bode well. When you and the rest of the pack, (well, when you were all one big pack and not the two "entities" that you are now), came over after doing patrols, you used to fight over my food. Everyone would be stuffing their faces, fighting over scraps. Absolutely nothing would be left, not even a crumb. But I always made you muffins. Always. These were different from the muffins I gave the rest of the boys. For one, yours would always have that pinch of cinnamon I know you love, and yours would always be put somewhere away from the boys, a place where only you and I knew about.

Because they were _your_ blueberry muffins. No one else's. They were just for you. Only yours.

Every time I made them, when I would go back and get the tin that I left them in, there would be none left. It always made me smile how you would still eat my muffins. After everything that happened, I still knew your favorite foods. I still knew you.

Now, you don't even look at my muffins- your muffins. But I know you know they're there from the way your nose wrinkles slightly.

Since when have my muffins smelled so repulsive to you?

Is there too much cinnamon? I was so sure I added just the right amount…

I start to panic. This isn't going well. Our night was not supposed to go like this. You were supposed to come in and sit down, eat one of your muffins and then maybe chat with Rachel and Kim. Everyone would then talk for a bit before we started to watch movies. We were supposed to watch movies and talk about which leading man we would love to be married to, nicely creating a bridge for our next topic of conversation: weddings. Weddings in La Push. My wedding. My marriage to Sam. The union of your ex and your cousin.

Then, I would tell you that we set the date. That we set the date and that I want you to be involved. As in really involved. As in standing up there with me as my sister, as my best friend, as my maid of honor.

You would sit there, shocked at first, but eventually you would come around. You would agree because you're family and we made a promise to always be there for each other and to be each other's maid of honor when we were younger.

It was supposed to start with you eating a muffin, loosening up and talking to us. You haven't even looked at any of us, save the glare you shot at Kim. So no, the plan is not going well.

Okay, it's time to change tactics. I have tried the whole silent let's-wait-for-you-to-break-the-ice plan and now it's time to take charge. Time for me to say something. Anything. Okay… go.

I look up at you and watch you as you pick at your nails, bored ad hating the world.

I shrink back down into my seat and look down into my lap. Yup. I should wait a while before saying anything. I'd hate to interrupt you and your nails. I remember what you did to Paul when he interrupted you. The floor still has scratch marks.

The truth is, I don't know what to say to you anymore. I've tried to get your attention, to apologize. I've done everything I can to try and get you to even look at me, but you don't! Not even one glance! I love you! I love you, and you act like I don't exist. Like you don't love me anymore.

Like my best friend hates me.

I sit on the couch opposite you and wait for the perfect opportunity to ask the question that has been eating away at me for days. The question that has made my stomach into a bundle of ropes, making it impossible to sit still.

So, instead of concentrating on how to try and ask you to be my maid of honor, (something that should have been so easy to do), I concentrate on not thinking about trying to ask you to be my maid of honor. I watch you on the couch instead. You just sit there, bored as can be, picking at you nails, playing with the hem of your sundress, not really enjoying yourself. When it looks like you're going to look up, more specifically, look up and lock eyes with me, I turn away, focusing my eyes on something else. Looking around the room I realize that we're not the only two there. Rachel and Kim are still here, looking very uncomfortable having to sit on the couch in between the couch I'm sitting on and yours across the room.

Still, they haven't said anything, which I appreciate. When I told them that I wanted to talk to you, more specifically what I wanted to talk to you about, they both thought I was crazy. Kim worried about your reaction. Rachel, who had a pretty good idea of how you'd react, was worried for my life, but they both agreed to come. To… supervise.

It's not that we don't trust you; we do. I know that you would never hurt me, that you would never lose control. Jacob's pack did that to you: it calmed you.

Still, I'm apprehensive about asking this of you.

Just as I'm about to start a conversation, trying to ease myself into the question, you sigh. Just one little sigh, and I already can't take it. With one sigh, you say just how much you find this gathering to be meaningless and a waste of time.

Unable to take it, I feel this compulsion to please you and keep you here, and then words just spew from my mouth. Trying desperately to get and hold your attention, to get you interested, to get you to stay, to get you to say yes. I ask you how you are, how patrols are going, how it feels to be in a different pack, if the Cullens are being good to you. Then I prattle on about the pack here. How the boys miss you, how Quil and Embry might want to join your pack, how you look so much _lighter_ since joining Jacob's pack and becoming his Beta and his _friend._

I don't tell you how much I miss you. You're my cousin, my best friend, my _sister_ , and you won't talk to me. I love you so much, and you can't even mutter a "Hey Em," without it being laced with sarcasm and condescension, if you even bother saying anything at all. Which is why I just try and talk about anything and everything other than you and me.

Your eyes snap up and lock with mine. My word vomit just gets worse. I start to stumble over my words, trying to rush them all out just so that there isn't this silence between us. You just stare at me, not really listening, narrowing your eyes as my words start to blend into one another.

You're very intimidating and you know it. You just stare at me with such hate, revulsion and hostility, that my sentence trails off and I have to look away. You never used to look at me like that before. Whenever you looked at me you would smile and have such happy, friendly eyes.

Now, your eyes barely lock with mine. On the off chance that they do, like right now, they're clouded with anger, bitterness, pain, loss, hostility, and jealousy.

But, if I don't try, then things can't get better. So now I try to look past it and to just push through.

Taking a deep breath, I look you in the eye and start. "Leah, I know that I've hurt you, but I want us to put the past in the past. I want to move on." Your eyes narrow and I start to rush out my words again. "I want you to be my friend again. I want you to be the best friend you were before this mess. It—"

"What do you want now, Emily?" you snap at me, crossing your arms across your chest.

My eyes are glued to my lap as I ask in a hushed voice, "I want you to be my maid of honor, for old time's sake. That's all."

I need you to say yes. I need you back in my life, to show me that we can go back to what we were: best friends, sisters, inseparable.

I look up at you, trying to convince you with my eyes that that's all I'll ask of you. This is all I want from you. All I want is for us to be together, for you to take your place as my best friend and maid of honor.

I can hear your jaw lock and your breathing increase as you try to calm yourself down. "That's all? _That's all?_ Are you insane? You already have it all!" you yell, throwing your hands up in the air.

"Let me tell you what I truly think, dear cousin." You stand up and storm over to me. "That's _not_ all. Not even close. You want more, more than the 'everything' that you already have. You have Sam, my house, my ring, my life, hell, I wouldn't be surprised if you're going to wear the dress I picked out for the wedding that was _supposed_ to be mine, too. It's just who you are," you sneer.

"But I've learned to deal," you nod, as if confirming your rehabilitation, "Now I don't have to hang around this house and watch you and Sam rub your absolutely sickeningly 'sweet' love in my face or have to hear about how much you love one another from Sam while running patrols." You glare at me before continuing, "I'm _better_ without you. And now, a year after I finally have some semblance of normalcy, you're seriously asking me to be your maid of honor? After everything you've put me through you're asking me to 'put the past in the past' and be your maid of honor for old time's sake?" you screech incredulously.

You look me dead in the eye before yelling, "Are you out of your freaking mind?"

I shrink away from you. The look in your eyes is one of pure anger and loathing. I don't even recognize you when you rant, "A person can only take so much crap from one person without wanting smash her face in or take a blowtorch to her, you know. Believe me, it has taken a lot of restraint to not just rip your throat out right now!"

At that comment, I shrink back even more, trying to blend into the back of the couch. You notice my fear and bark out a callous laugh.

Jabbing a finger at me, you hiss, "You have made my life hell! From stealing Sam to making the thought of a muffin repulsive. I used to like muffins, now I can't have one without thinking of _you._ "

You hate muffins? But, I thought you liked them. You always like my muffins. I know you're upset, but I never thought you hated me.

"You have made my life a living hell. There is no way I'm going to be your maid of honor, or a bridesmaid, or participate in planning the wedding at all. The only thing I'm going to do is go watch you get married to Sam with my pack and then leave after you say 'I do.' You don't need me; you just _want_ me in your life. And that's not fair. You have _Sam_ ," you draw out his name with a disgusted look on your face. "That's all you should need."

You send a sarcastic smile to Rachel and Kim before calling out, "I had a _great_ time, we should _definitely_ do it again!" as you storm out of my house, the house that was supposed to be yours.

I sit here watching after you, trying to process what just happened. I don't notice when Rachel and Kim rush over to me, seeing if I'm alright, if I was hurt. They check and say that thankfully, no, I wasn't hurt, but they're wrong. I am hurt. I have no idea who you are anymore.

I just wanted you to be my friend again. To talk to me, joke with me, support me, love me. To be with me on my special day. To be in my life again.

To be my maid of honor.

That's all.


End file.
